


Snowflake

by pixie_rings



Category: Frozen (2013), Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Circus, Alternate Universe - Human, M/M, Prompt Fic, fic request
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-03
Updated: 2014-05-03
Packaged: 2018-01-21 18:22:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1559723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pixie_rings/pseuds/pixie_rings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>North drags Aster to the circus because of some girl. Little does Aster guess he's going to get his own date from this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Snowflake

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Max Grayson](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Max+Grayson).



> From a fic prompt on Tumblr.

“Why did I let you talk me into this, again?”

Aster hated circuses. They were horrible things full of animal cruelty and unfunny clowns, and the fact that North was dragging him to one was extremely annoying. He had an inkling it had something to do with the girl Nick had met the other day, some Indian Sheila Aster had heard far too much about to care. It turned out North had a couple of free tickets, and Sandy couldn't go – something about a dinner with Koz's daughter, something important.

Anyway, what it _meant_ was that Aster was drafted for wingman duty, and he had to sit through this rubbish before North got his date and went home happy. Mates did that, apparently. Gave moral support.

The big top was a large, airy tent, striped like an old-fashioned lolly, cleaner than he'd expected. There were no animal cages at all, just a few horse boxes and large paddocks for them to run around in, the horses within looking sleek, fit and well-fed. He approved of that, if nothing else. At least horses were already domesticated animals.

He and North took their seats, near the middle of the stands, overlooking the ring. The usual fare, really, the kind of place you saw in films. Aster folded his arms, slumping down in his seat with a huff. The things he did for friendship.

He yawned and let his mind wander through most of the ringmaster's drivel, closed his eyes and thought about colour and composition and all the commissions he still had to do and ignored what was going on down in the ring.

“And now! Mysterious wintry waifs born from snow and icy winds of the frozen north! The frosty twins, snow sylph and winter sprite, light as snowflakes and quick as laughter! I am honoured and humbled to present... Jack Frost and the Snow Queen!”

There was a burst of extremely enthusiastic applause, and Aster cracked an eye open despite himself. It seemed half the crowd had come just for them. Famous, were they?

The spotlight was fixed on the two platforms near the top of the tent, where a youth and a young woman stood, hands spread in presentation. Aster blinked, squinted up at them. The girl was wearing what amounted to a pale blue sequined swimming costume and a frilly, sheer skirt which showed off long, pale legs. He didn't even bother looking at her face or hair. But the lad... oh, _he_ was something else.

Aster straightened, swallowed and stared. The kid was wiry and skinny, he could see through the tightness of pale blue vest and tight black daks. His hair was a sheer, unearthly white, his skin pale, and even from here Aster could see his confident grin. He unhooked the trapeze from where it was at his side, and leapt.

The way he soared through the air... it was like he was flying. The girl grabbed him by the arms, he grabbed her by the legs, and Aster could see how his muscles worked, how they moved beneath his skin, skinny but powerful. He tumbled and gripped one-handed, somersaulted and vaulted and spun in the air like a snowflake tossed by the wind. Thin legs at oddly elegant angles, lights now shining over winter-pale sweat-sheened skin. Aster could barely breathe, hands tight on his knees, fingers itching for a pencil. He could have studied that boy for years and never gotten bored of drawing him. He wanted to commit those angles and lines to paper, to trace the graceful curves he saw with his eyes in graphite and paint.

He also wanted to touch. He couldn't deny it, he wanted his hands on that body, holding it closer, knowing it with touch as well as with sight. He could just imagine how flexible the kid would be in bed, how he'd arch and bare his throat, how powerful his grip would be on Aster's shoulders, how strong his legs would be around Aster's waist. Aster bit his lip and fought down the mental images. Circus tents were _not_ the place for the old fella to get excited.

It was over too soon for his liking. It seemed to have lasted only mere seconds, but the kid was already straightening on his podium and bowing to the ecstatic crowd. Then he descended the ladder into the ring, to bow again, holding the girl's hand as he did.

Christ, the boy was pretty, all sharp features and dancing icy eyes. He seemed to scan the crowd, and perhaps, if Aster could let himself believe it, their eyes met. Perhaps a frisson of something passed between them, something electric and super-charged, but perhaps it was just imagination. He liked to hope it wasn't.

Then the kid and his sister were gone, and Aster felt hollow.

The rest of the show passed, sometimes inchingly slow, sometimes in a colourful blur, though that wasn't often. He barely registered the feathery Indian woman who was juggling and tumbling with three younger versions of herself when North pointed her out excitedly, his mind still too caught up in the trapeze artist from before. Jack Frost was his stage name, and it suited him.

His mind began to form a plan. North would be going backstage to see his new girlie, and Aster would have the perfect excuse to go look for the skinny kid with the cheeky grin. He could go up to him, give him his number...

Finally, finally, the whole farce ended with a fanfare and applause. Aster could barely sit still any longer. He stood and hurried out before the rest of the crowd had even begun to stand, North hot on his heels.

“Not too fast, Bunny!” he called, puffing along behind him. Aster didn't care, until he reached the caravans behind the big top.

“OI!”

Someone grabbed Aster's shoulder. Aster gripped his wrist and flipped him, smacked him down to the ground. The beefy man – a security guy, from the looks of things – groaned. Aster winced. Ok, he hadn't meant to do that, but you didn't just go around grabbing people's shoulders, especially if the person you grabbed was a skilled martial artist.

“Sorry, mate,” he muttered.

“No problem,” said the other man – ah, a Pom – sitting up gingerly. He accepted the hand Aster offered with a grateful nod. “But ya can't be back here.”

That was when North appeared, gasping for breath and holding up a finger as he leant forward on his knees.

“He is with me!” he said cheerfully, once he'd gotten his breath back. Pommie eyed him suspiciously.

“And who're you?” he demanded.

“Don't worry, Dave, they're with _me_ , actually.”

She was tinier in real life. Well, tinier outside of the ring, dainty and bright, like a hummingbird, her skin the colour of healthy coffee. She was still wearing her feathery leotard with the pretty train, but her headdress had been discarded and she showed off green-blue dyed hair with a long, yellow streak. She was smiling at North, and Aster couldn't help but notice just how _white_ her teeth were. She was pretty, if you liked Sheilas, of course.

“Wondered whether you were going to turn up,” she said, shyly tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. North beamed at her.

“Would not have missed it for world!” he said. Aster fought the urge to gag, and turned away. His wingman duties had officially ended when he'd found his own quarry, and now he set to looking for him. Dave had left them to it as soon as the Sheila had arrived (wait, North had called her Tiana once, if he remembered correctly), and Aster could get down to searching without hindrance.

The caravans looked all the same, really. He spotted the three mini-Tianas sitting on the steps of theirs, but they were chatting amongst themselves in Hindi and didn't pay him any notice. It wasn't until he caught a flash of pale blue sequins that he knew it was close.

It was, however, the girl, not the boy he wanted. She was smoking, a look of ecstasy on her face. Aster, who'd never smoked in his life, not counting a few joints, couldn't see the point.

“You shouldn't smoke,” said a male voice, and it was _him_.

He was hanging half out of his trailer, scowling at the girl, and he was just as pretty now as he had been in the ring, even with the ratty Doctor Who t-shirt and trackie daks. He looked beyond the girl – who Aster realised now looked nothing like him – and saw him. He looked surprised, and now Aster felt considerably stupid. What if this girl was his girlfriend? Might not even like men. He could feel heat on his cheeks, and he was about to turn and leave (how had even thought this idea was good?) when he saw the boy heading towards him.

He stopped right in front of him, hips tilted slightly, arms folded, looking from underneath those snowy bangs.

“You were in the crowd,” he said, smirking. Aster cleared his throat.

“Yeah, was,” he muttered. To his surprise the girl giggled.

“I'll leave you to it, then,” she said, disappearing into the trailer with a jaunty wave. The kid's face turned bright pink.

“Goddammit, Elsa,” he said through gritted teeth, all confidence gone. He looked at Aster and offered a weak grin. “Sorry 'bout that,” he mumbled. “Um... my sister is a jerk. So...”

Aster rubbed the back of his neck. “Listen, I, er... Guess I just wanted to ask you...”

“Yes?”

Bloody hell, this was the most _awkward_ thing he'd ever done in his life. He couldn't believe he was here, in the middle of a bloody field, in front of a circus caravan, trying to ask out a kid that looked about ten years younger than him.

“Ask you out,” Aster finished lamely. He felt so incredibly stupid. The boy ducked his head, a half-grin playing on his lips.

“Uh... ok. Sounds good.”

Aster blinked. Had he heard that correctly, or was it his imagination playing tricks?

“Really?”

“Really, really,” the boy said, chuckling. “Oh, um, I'm Jack Frost.” He held his hand out. Aster shook it, but one eyebrow couldn't help but rise.

“Really?” he repeated, incredulous. Jack's cheeks turned pink again.

“I had dumb parents, ok? Why do you think I ran away and joined the circus?” He laughed. “But that's a conversation for the first date.”

Aster couldn't help the grin spreading itself over his face. “Ok, then.”

“Ok.”

There was a bit of an awkwardly expectant silence, and Aster almost kicked himself. He was supposed to be _good_ at these sort of things, he'd had enough practice, but evidently being thirty didn't count for much, really, in the grand scheme of natural selection, human style.

“Right, you'll want me number,” he muttered. Jack's phone was already in his hand, and he took down and saved the number dutifully.

“What name would that be?” he asked.

“Aster. _E._ Aster _Bunnymund_ ,” Aster added a second later, because Jack had given him his supposed surname and Aster hadn't. Jack wrote something on his phone and nodded.

“Great. I'll text you. Then you can tell me where you plan to whisk me off to.” He was grinning cheekily, and it really did suit him, but now Aster was wondering what other pretty expressions that face had. How far could that blush go? How did he look after sex? Oh, there was a realm of possibilities there, and he was itching to draw every single one.

“I'll think of something,” Aster replied with a wink, a bit of the old confidence back. Jack chuckled, tapping his phone against his chin.

“See you then,” he said, low and with a hint of something Aster thought of as promise. Aster nodded, once, two steps back with his hands in his pockets and watched Jack return to his caravan, glancing back over his shoulder as he went.

The boy had a nice arse, pert, round and distinctly gropeable, even through trackie daks.

He found North and... Tiana, yes, it was _Tiana_ , saying their goodbyes by the tent. Everyone else had gone, the late afternoon was drawing into twilight, and Aster felt distinctly pleased with himself, if the grin he could feel plastered over his face was anything to go by.

“So, see you tomorrow?” Tiana asked North. North nodded vigorously, and she left him with a kiss on the cheek. It was kind of cute to see a big, broad, manly man like North blush like a schoolboy, in a pathetic sort of way. Tiana grinned at him as she passed him to return to her own trailer, and Aster nodded politely back.

“Where were you?” North asked as Aster fell into step beside him. Aster couldn't stop grinning, so he didn't even try. It leaked into his voice as he spoke.

“Going after a certain young trapeze artist,” he said cheerfully. If there was a spring in his step, well, that was only a good thing, wasn't it? He'd stop short of whistling, though, that would just be embarrassing. North's laughter boomed about like thunder.

“That Jack Frost, hm? Very good.”

.

_From: Jack Frost  
To: Me  
At: 19:30 17/8/2013  
So... whens this date, hot aussie?_

Aster had to pause in collecting his art supplies to answer. Then he blinked. 'Hot Aussie', eh? Well, who was he to say no to that?

_From: Dat Accent  
To: Me  
At: 19:32 17/8/2013  
How bout next Friday?_

_From: Jack Frost  
To: Me  
At: 19:32 17/8/2013  
Free as a bird, bb_

Aster had no idea what 'bb' stood for, but Google was his friend, as Sandy always said.

_From: Dat Accent  
To: Me  
At: 19:34 17/8/2013  
Pick you up at 7. that fine?_

_From: Jack Frost  
To: Me  
At: 19:34 17/8/2013  
Perfect. C u then <3_

Less than three was a mystery, too. Definitely needed to turn to Google. Also, the kid was answering faster than he could send, creating some bizarre temporal paradox.

_From: Dat Accent  
To: Me  
At: 19:35 17/8/2013  
Jesus christ, you write bloody fast_

_From: Jack Frost  
To: Me  
At: 19:36 17/8/2013  
Teenage thumbs, pal. u should c me type_

Oh fuck. Aster blanched. He hadn't thought about that. He knew some kids looked young, and Jack had looked young indeed, but he'd supposed it was simply youthfulness. He had a Peter Pan air about him. What if the kid wasn't even sixteen yet?

_From: Jack Frost  
To: Me  
At: 19:36 17/8/2013  
Btw, that accent rly is hot. Even when ur writing it_

_From: Dat Accent  
To: Me  
At: 19:37 17/8/2013  
...You are legal, right?_

_From: Jack Frost  
To: Me  
At: 19:37 17/8/2013  
Lol, yes 18 & counting_

Aster breathed a sigh of relief. But that meant the difference was twelve years, not ten. He'd never dated anyone so young before. Hell, he'd never even had an interest in twinks. Was he getting old enough that he needed the second-hand energy? He wrinkled his nose. He certainly hoped not.

_From: Jack Frost  
To: Me  
At: 19:37 17/8/2013  
Also I am actually capable of writing like a human being. Just cant b bothered on texts_

_From: Dat Accent  
To: Me  
At: 19:38 17/8/2013  
Oh, er thank you for the compliment. Bout the accent._

_From: Jack Frost  
To: Me  
At: 19:38 17/8/2013  
Dont worry I wasnt just hearing the accent_

_From: Jack Frost  
To: Me  
At: 19:38 17/8/2013  
I saw the biceps 2_

Aster stared, then laughed. He fought down the urge to flex, however, which just would have been sad, considering he was sitting on his sofa, alone, and not even calling, but texting. Compliments were compliments, though. There was a reason he went to the gym, after all. He glanced at the clock, and winced. It took him fifteen minutes to get to the community centre. He probably shouldn't have been sitting there like a lovesick schoolgirl, wearing his thumb away.

_From: Dat Accent  
To: Me  
At: 19:40 17/8/2013  
Right, gotta go in a minute, got an evening class to teach. See you Friday._

_From: Jack Frost  
To: Me  
At: 19:41 17/8/2013  
c u then! <3_

Aster grinned. He couldn't help it. He strode over to the calendar on the wall – something with sealife on it, Sandy had given it to him, Sandy liked dolphins and manta rays and things like that – and marked the twenty-third in red pen.

**DATE WITH JACK**

He replaced his pen on the sideboard, grabbed his backpack and keys and headed out the door, still grinning.


End file.
